


Serendipity.

by fearless_seas



Series: Thirteen Years. [1]
Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Anal Sex, Angry Sex, Death, Drinking, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fainting, M/M, Minor Character Death, Phone Calls & Telephones, Pining, Scratching, Smut, Touching, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-21
Updated: 2018-06-21
Packaged: 2019-05-26 01:41:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14990018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fearless_seas/pseuds/fearless_seas
Summary: (n) the occurrence and development of events by chance in a happy or beneficial way.





	Serendipity.

**Author's Note:**

> If you want context for the beginning of this chapter, read chapter four of my fic "Lust (and nothing else)" because I didn't feel like I had to rewrite that whole chapter in Alain's perspective.

**\----- 1982 -----**

 

          Alain Prost knows it is wrong when Nelson Piquet is slamming into him on top of the hotel sink in the bathroom. But he thought this before that same day when that man grabs his hand and strokes a thumb over the top of his while they are in the bus. They were in the pool and Nelson keeps swimming closer and closer, his thighs slipping between his legs. He cannot deny the shivers of pleasure it gives him. It happened quickly, laying on his mattress on the floor of the suite with Nelson dipping his hand discreetly beneath the sheets as if he had no regard for others prying eyes. He can barely recall slipping off the bathroom but now the crown of his head is being knocked behind him at the glass of the mirror and he is whispering little swears under his breath as they hit just the right spots.

          They are acting untamable, messy and reckless and refuse to apologize for it ever. Alain wasn’t doing it intentionally, at breakfast, when he is sucking powdered sugar off the tips of his fingers but Nelson is studying him from across the table with his lips slightly parted and a hungry expression. They were terrifying to him, but oh-so fascinating. It was nice, quick and absolutely penetrative, the sex, but at the same time he knew it was one time only. Wasn’t it? The surge of energy in his veins is no match for his self control. He finds himself palming his erection through his shorts alone in his hotel room Sunday night after he won the race. He’d just taken a shower, scrubbed the champagne from his hair, his face and his skin. He stands over the bathroom sink, his waist pressing against it when he leans over to brush his teeth.

          He remembers himself: open, whining and groaning like a teenager with Nelson’s fingers digging into his hips. He dresses without regard for what he is wearing and knocks on their door in the dead of night. Alain felt drawn to him in ways that do not make sense, maybe because he hasn’t felt such a release as that since… ever. Nelson answers the door already hard and they go at it again with pure animalistic instinct. He can sense the nails breaking into the skin of his fragile back. At four in the morning, Nelson has to quickly finish off round two so that he can catch his plane home. Alain falls asleep, naked and tangled in dirty sheets until he is blinded by late morning sunlight. The first thing he noticed when he tried to take a shower was the sting of pain. He had to wear long-sleeve shirts for a week after to hide the marks and wash himself up only in the sink.

 

__________________

**March 20th**

 

          Alain didn’t think of Nelson until Brazil two months later. The heat was sweltering, more intense than anything he’d ever felt in his entire life. He spoke to him for a small moment after qualifying where he was taking off his helmet and strolling up the paddock towards the garage. He paused, Nelson was leaning up against the wall striped of his overalls down to his waist and his tight fire suit against his skin.

          They kicked off from the wall when they saw him. “Look at you, Alain,” he chuckled, “Wiping that post pole-position glory sweat off of your forehead!” He gestured to the thick mass of dripping curls that were hanging in front of his eyes.

          Alain frowned and swiped them away. “You didn’t do so--”

          “--Good?”, Nelson interrupted, he scoffed and shook his head, “Seventh position is disgusting.”

          Alain had to agree. He cleared his throat and shuffled his feet, “What are you doing here, Nelson?”, it came out tired as though he was exasperated with the thought of it.

          “Well,” he came closer and Alain snapped his head fretfully about them. Nelson’s fingertips met the sleeves of his overalls, creeping slowly up to the elbow of his suit. “This weather has me heated, there is a space and some wine waiting at my apartment,” Alain swallowed as the grip tightened over the ring of his wrist, “I need you to join me.”

          _Need_. 

          Alain wants to say yes, he can feel his ribs rattle about as though the idea is being shaken in a tin box. Slowly he jerks his hand out from his grasp, crossing it over his chest, “No, Nelson, no.” As he turned away there was a distance flinch of pain at the corner of their eye as their hand lingered longer in the air as though waiting for him to return. Alain went away into the garage, shaking his head without a second glance or word. _Who does he think he is playing?_

 

________________________

**March 21st**

 

          The race the next day was a mess. Retirements left and right, Alain was able to navigate him through the mess to third. He took the positive from it: _at least I finished with points_. Nelson ends up winning, his teammate Riccardo had retired from exhaustion and Keke finished in second. They are standing on the podium, Nelson above him appeared flushed, crimson and trembling. He has a grip on his shoulder as if to hold himself up. It's sudden, when he falls, tumbling straight down with Keke attempting to grab him underneath his arms. The trophy about to be given to him is settled on the podium steps beside them and Alain quickly rushes up to grab one of his shoulders. His head lolls forward as they hold his head upwards. He is lain behind the podium. Keke grips his jaw as Nelson blinks wearily at the sky. Alain strokes his cheek when they begin to mutter, beads of sweat running over his temples.

          “Don’t talk,” he demands and they only moan in discomfort. Nelson swats his hand away with what energy he can muster. They land their hand on Alain’s knee and squeeze the area. He is carried off the podium and Alain can only take his own trophy with a small, pallid and superficial smile. Twenty minutes later they slap Nelson’s trophy in his hands. _Disqualified_. Guilty, that’s what he feels. He worked just as hard as anyone else but Nelson nearly killed himself for it, fainted right there on the stands in front of everyone. He is given the win instead because Keke is disqualified too. He stares at the trophy across from him in the garage where it sits in shiny gold and follows him. His eyes study it, the rigid outer frame that held Nelson’s fingerprints for a fraction of a second.

 

_______________________

**March 22nd**

 

          Alain spends the better part of the night stalking his hotel room, pacing back and forth around the bed with a stern expression. A bottle of wine and cock sound nice, don’t they? But that’s not the reason he, despite all better judgement, hails a taxi into the city at one in the morning. He climbs the stairs of the building and hesitates before knocking on Nelson’s apartment room door. The implications do cross his mind, sure, but he already traveled this far. It takes over a minute for them to answer the door and Alain contemplates walking away but just as he does the door bursts open quickly. Nelson is postulated there, barefoot in his underwear and an oversized t-shirt. Their steely, hickory eyes narrow, small and beady as they stare hunched against the door.

          “I see our winner has come to gloat,” their jaw tightens and Alain’s attention flicker to the tight grip they are giving the handle. Hands digging into palms with fresh nail indents. The light is on in the living room, _at least I didn’t wake him up_. A bottle of amber colored alcohol is open on the glass coffee table with a tiny cup filled with ice resting empty next to it.

          Alain peered farther into the room.  “Are you sure you should be drinking?”, he asked, crossing his arms and blinking up at him.

          Their brows knitted together, “What are you? My fucking mother?” He stepped back from the door as if to allow Alain in before shutting the door with an audible bang that made him wince. He made no attempt to cover himself and fell onto the couch with a groan, legs open, reaching over the table to pouring more into his glass. But he didn’t sip it, he only stared off into the city lights below and the ant like cars as the ice melted. A cold drop of condensation dripped from the tip of his glass across his second knuckle. Alain awkwardly stood by the counter, erect and pensive as he watched Nelson finally steal a gulp. “How is it stealing my win?”, they eventually said, turning their head sourly.

          “I didn’t steal it,” Alain frowned, leaning up against the wall. “Your car was illegal.”

          Nelson shook his head, a sarcastic smile folding his lips up as his eyes fell to the ceiling and he cradled the glass between two hands. “For a fucking water tank, Alain, you think the driver has anything to do with that?” There was was stillness and Alain waited until he felt they were a little calmer.

          “Are you alright?”, he questioned and before the words were even out of his mouth he regretted it. _So much for_ _precision_.

          Nelson shot him a glance, his glass crashed down on the table and he stood up, coming around the back of the couch and wiping his mouth. “Do I fucking look alright?”, he growled and Alain held his breath as they stalled there, looking as though they may pounce on him. “The heat ruined my race, my team failed me, I fainted on the podium and you stole my win--does that clear things up?”, he snapped before carding his hands through his hair. Alain only noticed then that they were shaking, their fingers trembling through their hair and the nails ran over their temples. Both of them stand across from each other, a vast road that Alain finds himself crossing cautiously. He places a hand on Nelson’s shoulder and they reach up quickly to slap it off.

          “Don't you have to sleep?”, he inquired, putting the hand back there. This time Nelson draws his hand away from his hair and grabs Alain’s wrist, backing him towards the couch.

          “Why did you come here, Alain?”, but it’s not a question because they already know. He froze when he said that because when he touched him it was as though they were animals, the two of them, prey always believing that if they do not move they will not be hurt. Nelson is feverish, this cheeks glowing brightly and his eyes wide and cat-like.

          Alain swallowed, the column of his throat bobbed and trembled. “To visit you,” his voice sounded miles away, carried off by the wind somewhere distant.

          They draw closer, pushing him farther and farther until his back it to the wall and he can feel Nelson’s pushing his wrist against his chest. “Don’t lie,” he runs a tongue discreetly over his lips through a small parting. His hands falls to his lower stomach and the other brushes the nape of his neck. The hand presses at the hollow of his throat, “Did you really think you could steal my win and then come around for a fuck?” Alain draws in a sharp breath when he is roughly grabbed between his legs with a tight squeezes. “You believe you can treat me like a door you can walk in and out of?”, he laughed, “You are wrong.” The hand closes around his throat and all Alain experiences is the rush of blood of his head and the whimpers that leave him as Nelson clasped down farther onto his crotch.

          It was a matter of seconds but Alain can smell the alcohol on their breath as they slam their lips together in such a way that his head comes back and slams against the wall. There is fire within his bones, like something that died long ago was suddenly bursting to life. He keeps his lips firmly shut and lets Nelson nip into his neck, his collar and the surface of his shoulders. It felt like pins jabbing acutely into his skin. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy every moment of it. They lead him to the couch, grind up against him and practically rip the shirt off of his back with a swift movement. His neck tilts back, falls open and bare to the blade of their lips. In an odd turn of events, he trusts him. He handed off his trust in a glass bottle, he is thinking how dangerous it will be to navigate the broken pieces when it is dropped. Alain is naked, the air in the apartment making his skin ripple and the hair on the back of his neck stand up. No time is wasted and in one shift movement Nelson has flipped over onto his stomach with his ass in the air and his knees pushed apart. They spread him open and Alain gasps, stuffs his head into a sofa cushion until Nelson grabs his face.

          “No, I want to hear you,” he commanded, guiding himself into him once he is done. Their hands on his hips is making him cry out and the speed with which he goes about this is making him quiver. It was rough in so many sweet ways. “God, you little whore,” they forced out from deep within their throat as they leaned over his back and stuck their mouth to the soft flesh of his shoulder. “On your knees taking it like a dirty boy,” they have fingernails dragging along the warm skin of his back and he thinks he felt fire come from them. “Are you a dirty boy, Alain?” Alain only fussed and murmured something he cannot remember. It lasted longer than the first two times, Nelson finishes off, falling back after coming to a shuddering halt and Alain knows there is something wet drip onto his thighs.

          “I’m not--”

          “--Touch yourself,” they interrupted and laid on the other side of the couch, naked and watching as Alain propped himself up. Nelson observes him with such a predatory gaze in his eye, the glint that goes across there is so wide Alain can see his reflection there. He reaches forward, grabbing between his legs and stroking himself until his back arches. It was blind pleasure, one that made his head spin and his mind race. He suddenly cannot think of anything but how _good_ he feels. He stares up at the ceiling, panting and seeing the black dots fade and everything come back into focus. It was like a fever that never broke or a name struck in his throat. Alain cannot move after, he is so stiff with apical pain that he only sits there for a few moments until Nelson cleans him off. Neither says anything, a single thing. There is the taste of copper on his tongue and he is left on the couch for the night. He can’t remember the last time he slept so soundly in his entire life.

 

___________________________

 

          Alain wakes up not to sunlight, city sounds or even the coffee machine. He rises to silence, opens his eyes to the sound of absolutely nothing. There is someone sitting next to his head and for a second he doesn’t remember where he is. He blinks several times, allowing his eyes to adjust to his environment. Something is touching his hair. He turns his head and nearly jumps. Nelson has his hand running through his curls. They are watching his face, almost studying it; the light freckles dotting across his nose and soft kindness in his eyes. It is as if they are sinking their teeth in his soul. As soon as they notice he is awake, Nelson pulls his hand away and stands up off the couch, striding towards the kitchen as if nothing happened. He has a mug of coffee in his hand and is wearing nothing but knee-high white socks and a beige shirt. Alain means it when he says nothing else. He sits up, rubbing his forehead and following their backside as they round the counter.

          “Get dressed,” Nelson flickered his eyes towards the floor when Alain began slapping around the thin blanket trying to look for them. “Not like you wearing much when you came here anyways.”

          Alain sat up, tipping the blanket back over his hips when it slipped down as he put his pants back on. “What time is it?”, he slipped his shirt back over his head. It had to be after ten at least.

          “Too late,” Nelson grunted, ceasing the rest of his coffee and placing the cup in the sink. “You need to leave,” he said, “They’ll be looking for you.”

          Honestly, Alain didn’t really care. Just the thought of dealing with more reporters or his team makes him groan. He puts on his shoes slowly, eyeing a few marks before splashing his face with cold water in the sink and leaving. Nelson doesn’t want to bother himself driving and so Alain frowns as he stands on the street waving down a cab. He swears Nelson is examining him from the upstairs window as he climbs into the back seat. He rolls his eyes as the vehicle lurches to a start and they round the corner away from the apartment.

          It wouldn’t get deeper than this; the pleasure. It wouldn’t. It couldn’t.

 

_______________________

**April 25th**

 

          Alain has his hands gripping Nelson’s chest to hold himself steady as he rides him in the dim evening light of the Italian country. He grunts as they hit a particularly sensitive spot and he can only circulate his hips. Nelson reaches forward and grabs his thighs to urge him forward once again.

          “God, will you ever stop being tight?”, they pinch their eyes shut and Alain doesn't respond except to tilt his neck down. The cheap, plastic hotel phone suddenly rang on the bedside table making Nelson shoot his eyes open. Alain paused, letting out a shuddering breath and pointing his attention towards the noise. “No,” he moaned in protest, still clinging to their legs, “Don’t you dare stop, not right now when I am so close.”

          “I have to,” Alain rolls his eyes and climbs off of him shakily. He contemplates throwing the phone across the room as he lays on his side and adjusts himself. He instead puts the phone to his ear, “Hello?”

          “ _Alain, I have to speak with you,_ ” a voice breathed on the other line. A little concerned (and still plenty annoyed) Alain arched himself on his elbow as Nelson moved up behind him.

          “What is wrong, Didier?”, Nelson reached around, pinching his nipple making him curl up and clamp his mouth shut. They bit into the soft muscle of his shoulder and Alain gasped, trying to swat him away. It wasn’t rare for Pironi to call him but he wasn’t thinking of that now.

          “ _Gilles said he is never speaking to me again._ ”

          “How so?”, Alain’s inflection hitched as Nelson dragged him onto his stomach and snagged his waist, forcing him onto his knees with his head down.

          Didier sighed and Alain can picture him now running his fingers through his blonde locks with a worried expression. It suits well in his mind, this picture of determination. “ _He says I broke our deal, for him to win the race._ ”

          “But did you make a deal?”, Alain asked.

          “Tell Pironi to shut the fuck up,” Nelson grunted, growing impatient as he reached forward attempting to snatch the phone from his hands. Alain managed to cradle it to his chest and batted his hands away.

          “ _Yes, but well--_ ”

          “Then apologize,” a sudden gasp of air left his mouth as Nelson pressed back into him and he was pushed forward into the headboard. A sharp swear left his mouth that was mixed with the word _dieu_.

          There was a hitch on the other line. “ _Alain, are you alright?_ ”

          “Yes,” he strained but the strength of his voice was frayed and Nelson hummed gleefully as he picked up a steady rhythm. “Keep going,” he urged. Nelson began to go a little faster and Alain smacked a hand over the receiver before shooting him a sharp look, “Not you, idiot!”

          “ _I didn’t mean to upset him this much._ ”

          “I know, but apologize. Make sure it is before Belgium or Gilles will kick your ass,” he smiled a little, holding the phone a bit away from his ear to mask the steady stream of moans exiting his tongue.

          “ _Thanks, Alain._ ”

          “Goodnight, Didier,” he muttered.

          “Thank god,” Nelson exclaimed, flipping back over onto his back and Alain hooked one leg over each side of his thighs to begin what they had been interrupted by. The phone of course rang again and Nelson pushed it off the bed side table with a groan. “Turn that fucking thing off!” he tried to hold Alain back from reaching by the side of the bed and picking up the phone.

          “ _Fucking Pironi, I swear to god I am going to kick his ass..._ ”

          “Who is it?”, Nelson questioned, continuing what he was doing prior.

          “... _Taking a win we’d prepared? What kind of animal is he? Pig, a god damn pig..._ ”

          Alain leaped himself back onto the bed and resumed riding Nelson on the mattress. “It is Gilles,” he answered, lifting his hips up as Nelson arched his knees behind his back.

          “Why do they always come to you?”, he questioned.

          Alain wasn’t even listening to Gilles anymore, he sighed and interrupted the long chorus of swears and curses coming from the other end. “Gilles, talk to Didier, why don’t you?” he started to put the phone away.

          “ _Alain, wait--_ ”

          Nelson grabbed the phone from his hands with a struggle. “Goodbye, Gilles!”, he shouted before slamming it down on the receiver and reaching around to unplug the cord from the wall.

          Alain frowned, “Why the hell did you do that? Now he will know we are together.”

          “Alain, I swear to god,” Nelson firmed his hands around his waist, picking him up and down onto his cock, “If you do not shut up and ride me I will find someone with a much prettier face to do it for you.”

          Alain shut his mouth after that.

 

_______________________

**May 8th**

 

          Alain was already in the pits when the buzz from trackside caused him to perk his head up just as a link of people in the pits swarmed to the chained fence facing out towards the Belgian circuit. He had just taken his helmet off eight minutes ago when Didier came into the pits. There was an argument, a few choice words exchanged between teammates that made Alain put his head down and now Gilles is speeding his vehicle through the pit lane onto the track leaving Didier in the dust. The commotion occurs just as he is stripping from his racing uniform and it is hanging around his hips.

          “What is going on?”, he leans and stares at the angry storm clouds pulling themselves across the sky. Rene only muttered something about an accident and Alain finds himself freezing, his fingers stiffening on the lapels of his sleeves. A helicopter rose up in the air and he followed it as it disappeared into the sky. But he isn’t thinking as he stares, _I pray they are okay,_ the only thing that crosses his mind is, _I wonder if it will rain_ ; as if one were more important than the other. “Who is it?”, he asks again and the answer is simple.

          “It is Gilles.”

 

_______________________

**May 9th**

 

          Alain rubbed a hand over his face and answered the door at five in the morning. Nelson is standing on the other side with a coffee stalled in one hand. He frowned, “Why are you here so early?”

          Nelson steps in quietly, the door shutting gently behind him. “Gilles died,” but he says it so simply that Alain continues parting the curtains to allow the oncoming sunlight in. He doesn’t even move or make a sound, he only nods and hums deep in his throat. Suddenly, he pauses and he lets these words sink into his conscious. He turns around and Nelson is tapping his fingers against the side of his cup as he arches against a near the door. He smells oddly like fresh motor oil and leather, in a way that makes Alain want to slam him against the wall. But he doesn’t. He stands very still as the weight of these words curse and lay themself on upon his soul.

          “No,” he shakes his head, “That is impossible--”

          “--He did,” Nelson breathes.

          Maybe because Alain is just a little soft he understands the hardness of others better than most. But Nelson is there a few paces away forgetting that one cannot hide feelings because they present themselves in our eyes. He falls slowly onto the bed and blinks at the floor for a long moment. There are these moments where one scratches their head trying to discover a line or quote that defines how they are feeling. But maybe that’s what he is right now: empty. It is the blink of an eye that a chapter turned to the last page; or maybe it was never finished to begin with. He has never felt silence quite this loud.

          “Jesus,” Alain glances up as Nelson scoffs and shakes his head. “You are not the one who died, Alain,” but he feels as if they are unraveling the fabric in between them, tearing and prying at the distance. Nelson couldn’t be any farther from him than he is now standing across the room.

          Alain tightens his jaw and pulls his head out from between his hands. “Forgive me for showing a little care,” he snaps and Nelson is a little taken by his sharp tone as if somehow his voice were made of glass. A sudden stab of contempt hits him as he sits there seeing Nelson lean against the wall in his blue jeans and black leather jacket. Every piece of him and the exhausting form of his presence clouding his vision makes his hand begin to shake.

          They are contemplating, moving out with the unreadable glare of black. The lines of his face are flaccid as though every expression is alike; the twist at the end of his smiles and the dusky, murky-lidded sly line of their nose. “Are you mad, Alain?”, Nelson steals a step closer towards the bed. The intimidation is only making Alain quake with rage in ways he only experiences once in a lifetime. The insensitive glare of their features staring down at him as though he were an insect is making his skin crawl.

          “I am furious,” he clambered back through the clench of his teeth, standing quickly to his feet. Nelson didn’t give him an inch as Alain ended up in directly in front of his face. “I am tired of your bullshit,” he jolted on his chest as he passed, crossing towards the door. “Find someone else who gives a fuck about you and be sure to stay the hell away from me,” he didn’t glimpse back as he slammed the door masking whatever it was Nelson was screaming back at him as the left. It echoes in his mind long after the door closes.

 

_______________________

 

          The race finished on lap fifty-nine. He spun out and now he’s undoing his gloves as he treads through the garage. His helmet comes off when eyes filter over to the Ferrari lot. It is as if the gods designated that as the universe’s darkest corner for this moment. Alain stares as they pack up the last of their equipment. The cars are still going at it on the track and a seizure of annoyance strikes him. For a moment out the corner of his eye he sees a flash of blonde hair and a gray sweater. He snaps his head in the direction and places his helmet on the bench before sauntering over. Didier is there, stiff and unblinking against the wall with his hands folded in front of his stomach. They don’t look up as he approaches slowly, or even as he places a hand on his upper arm and he can feel him swaying beneath his hand.

          “I never apologized,” Didier muttered, lips weakly moving to foreign words.

          Alain puts another hand on his other shoulder, “Didier, this isn’t--”

          “--Yes, Alain,” he peered up at that moment and there is a raw truth in their eye; a vacant vulnerability that stands still above a quivering lower lip. “He wasn’t even wearing his helmet, he hadn’t harnessed--”, Didier forced his focus to the cement as he slipped to the ground with his elbows on his knees. The slow drip of emotion rained on his face and Alain rubbed his shoulder as if in some stupid way it may help. But they are sitting there with an ocean in their eyes and fire in his words. It made him want to wrap him up in a blanket and tuck him safely into the back of his closet. “He never even--” they swallowed and rammed the heels of their hands over their eyes. “--He got his wish didn’t he?”, he gandered over and met Alain’s eyes, “He never spoke to me again.” They moved their head away towards the pit line and Alain could see the lines on the pavement blur as their teardrops came down like dew onto the ground.

          That day it did rain; in only a way that Alain saw.

 

____________________________

**August 7th**

 

          Not a word is said to Nelson until August. They stopped trying to communicate with him eventually. The appalling conditions in Germany were made clear when he is trying to set the fastest lap on pole and he cannot see several meters in front of him. _Hands on the steering wheel_ , _changing from two to six o’clock_ , _sharp adjustment, forward gear change_ _and--_ he is interrupted as the back of his car abruptly dips quickly into the air and slams back down on the street. Immediately he shoots his gaze to his mirrors in a fury just as a the flash of red clear as day as it picks itself up and flies through the air into the gravel. Distracted, his wheels skid into the gravel on the side lanes as a Williams skids on the water besides him and his breaks give out. A name crosses his tongue, the impossibility of it as he thinks of it later makes his mind swim.

 _Gilles_.

          The other machinery rolls several times and Alain is still wrestling with the steering wheel to stop himself from skidding into the oncoming walls. The scent of burnt rubber and smoke arrive towards him and white billows into the air. He pauses, breathes and heaves himself from the cockpit with rain draining into the visor of his helmet. Didier never stood a chance but Alain pulls himself from his seat and wrangles with the tremble in his limps as he runs towards the Ferrari. He hadn’t noticed the Brabham parked slightly behind it. Nelson is bent over the toy with the weather running across his face and down into his eyes. Alain pauses a few meters away and Didier’s shouts drone into nothing next to the patter of the rain.

          The drops slide along Nelson’s face, diving beneath his chin and onto the frigid warmth of his fingertips. Losing grip, they slowly but surely fade away into nothing. There is a glisten on their tight lips as they reach into the cockpit and attempt to undo Didier's belts. A determination is firming the lines of their face, a silent plea or beg that meddles as they swear and pound their fist against the metal. Nelson struggles to tug off Didier’s helmet, getting it eventually and the heavens mingle with the blood caking his face.

          Alain freezes but forces himself forward behind Nelson as the scrape of other feet on gravel race towards the scene. And he sees it again as he stares at the body of metal: the Ferrari flying up against the sky and rolling. It replays and continues as Nelson is reticent, feeble and imploring in a manner of sensitivity he’d never seen in him before. But just as Sid is there, Nelson lowers his eyes from the belts towards the nose crushing Didier’s legs. Their eyes bulge, widen and suddenly he forces himself away. Nelson leans forward as the clouds intensify, retches away and kneels there weakly for a minute spitting into the stones. Alain approaches him and slides a hand over his shoulder. They snap their head up, wiping the back of their hand over their mouth and trying to stand. They only fall back towards to their knees and Alain shouts his name f before putting his hands underneath his arms.

          “Nelson!”, they only toss their head up towards him, facing Alain as his curls drops into his face and they stare. Fear grips itself strong and tight over their eyes, cradled them in its hands. That is all Alain can see then as he cups his face in the mud; the terror, the loose and panicked expression there. Because they realize then and there that 1982 will lose two world champions who scraped themselves into death for their goals. They weren’t the only ones. Alain can only hold his hair as they lean over and vomit once again.

 

______________________

 

 

          Back in the pits Nelson paces for a moment, trembling and shivering before launching forward and slamming his fist against the workbench. They growl loudly huffing and punching at it again, kicking at a chair until it tips over onto its back.

          “Stop, Nelson!”, Alain stalks over and stamps his hand on his shoulder.

          “Get the fuck off!”, he yells in response, hitting the hand away as he proceeds to throw another knuckle at the brick wall in front of him. They have a set of silent screams that are falling out of them and are masked by the stiffened clench of their teeth. Nelson is trembling, breaths struggling in and out as their throat closes up and their chest heaves.

          “Do you honestly think this will help?”, Alain asks behind him soft but firm. Nelson recesses, catches some air and spreads out his fingers. A drop of blood makes its way from his skin to the floor. The cells that is boiling hot in their veins beg for a release of pain.

          “What the fuck do you know?”, he hisses, glancing out the corner of his eye but not turning his back from Alain to face him when he speaks. Nelson was the type of man to walk with a closed fist and bruised knuckles, one to not allow life to stomp his face into the curb and, perhaps, maybe a mind that pitied soft hands. They hide the tenderness in their eyes that Alain knows is there and he wonders if how their fingers do not wilt from exhaustion.

          Alain swallows and approaches him, “You need to calm down, this isn’t going to help.” Instead they wheel around until the both of them are nearly face to face and chests are only a fraction apart. Alain unintentionally parts his lips as if waiting for him to do something. Nelson only peers down at him with an occupant, full and bloodshot expression. An debilitation, perhaps, that cannot be matched. Alain didn’t believe it was possible to stare into something so dark and still manage to steal from it a last shred of light. “We need to--”

          “--Talk about this?”, Nelson scoffs and makes him back farther towards the adjacent wall. “You want to know what I am thinking, Alain?”, he shouts as he grabs for the other’s wrist and pins it towards their chest. Alain suddenly finds his back making contact with the wall and he loses his breath from the impact. “You want to know how I feel?”, his voice has softened significantly but the menace is still there. He can hear their voice salted with guilt and he has the yearning to reach up with his free hand to tuck the loose tufts of hair behind their ears. Alain can say it for him because he knows that he never will.

 _I feel hurt_.

          But Alain is not stupid enough to believe it is only Didier making this happen. “By what?”, he asks back and their lips are so dangerously close that he can almost taste the sour weather on his tongue. Nelson suddenly falters, stills and blinks the tight pain from the corner of his eyes. “By who, Nelson?” but Alain knows the answer.

 _By you_.

          As though he’d been burnt, Nelson rips his hand out of the grasp and stumbles out of the garage with nobody chasing after him. Alain watches as their blood forms and stains on the cuff of his sleeve. A reminder of the longing that lies in pain.

 

________________________

 

          He can recall his conversation with Didier a few months back very clearly. The man sitting on the dirty ground with the pitter patter of tears on his cheeks rolling slowly onto the column of his neck. Alain doesn’t want to make the same mistake. He is mostly surprised when Nelson actually lets him in without a word. His same stiff, somewhat loose demeanor is back and Alain stands against the wall until Nelson goes half-hard against his leg and pushes him onto the bed. They crawl over him and rip his shirt off.

          “I knew you can’t stay away for too long,” they stick a tongue out between flushed and chilled lips. But their fingers on his clothing feels halted, their touch on his skin is hesitant and when they eventually fuck him is just that: distracted.

          At one point he gets enough in him to ask, “Are you alright--”

          “-- _Shut up_ ,” Nelson hissed into his ear, stroking him to ease the concerned words on his tongue into a moan, “We are not going to have any emotional bullshit from you.”

          So, Alain shuts his mouth and doesn’t say another word. Neither does he when he finds Nelson running his fingers through his curls again when he rests. They fall apart more than anyone he knows, in hidden ways and maybe that is why they can live through wars. Alain realizes when they rise to shower and hiss at the sting of the hot water on their battered knuckles that Nelson liked pain because he thinks he deserves it.

**Author's Note:**

> You can follow me on Tumblr @pieregasly or @sonofhistory, if you read it please leave a comment. Seriously, leave a comment. Anyways, thanks for being here!


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